


Valley of the Giants

by thisroadsofar



Category: Supernatural, Tonari no Totoro | My Neighbor Totoro (1988)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27298141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisroadsofar/pseuds/thisroadsofar
Summary: The Winchester’s are used to dealing with all kinds of evil monsters. This time, though, the monsters are the good guys.A retelling of My Neighbor Totoro, adapted for the Supernatural universe. Sammy is 4, Dean is 9, it’s April of 1988.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	1. And when it was clear

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so so so @pathryn34, @zennurse81, and @tltm78 on Twitter for not only offering to beta this fic, but for also putting up with me. Love you all!

"Hey, Sammy, want some licorice?" 

"Ew, gross, Dean. Licorice tastes like dirt." 

"You seemed to like the taste of dirt when I caught you eating it from that potted plant a week ago, but now you’re too good for it?" Dean laughed. He only got a pouty face, crossed arms, and a "hmph!" in return. "Hey Dad, you want some?" he asked, offering a handful over the backseat to his dad as they sped down Interstate-90 towards Nowheresville, South Dakota. 

"Yeah, I love dirt!" he replied, taking the handful and earning a little giggle from his boys. 

"Daddy, are we there yet?" Sam whined, wiggling impatiently next to Dean. 

"Almost kiddo. Just a few more miles," he promised. 

Dean rolled down his window, poking his head out to enjoy the scenery. Endless fields of corn filled his view. Finally, their dad exited the highway, turning onto a country road. Sam snuck his head underneath Dean’s arm, giggling with delight as he pointed toward a car headed their way. 

Dean gasped. "Hide, Sammy!" He grabbed Sam to obscure him behind the car door, peeking over the edge to watch as the car got closer. "Oh, I thought it was a cop!" He laughed, bringing Sam up again as they waved at the car, earning them a wave from the other driver as she passed by. 

A little further up, they saw a girl peek her head out from within the cornfields. “Hi!” they greeted, waving at her, but she startled, darting back into the stalks. 

"Girls," Dean scoffed. 

"Girls," Sam mimicked. 

"Hey Dad, where are we staying anyway? I don’t see any cities or motels around here," Dean asked. 

"It’s a surprise!" John replied, taking his hands off the wheel momentarily to do jazz hands for dramatic effect. 

Sam and Dean simultaneously gasped excitedly together, exclaiming, "What is it? What is it!" 

"Is it a house?" Dean asked. 

"Is it a boat?" Sam shrieked. 

Dean and John laughed. "We’re in the middle of South Dakota Sammy, there’s no boats," Dean exclaimed. 

"No, but we will be kinda near a river," hinted John. 

"Really?!" they exclaimed. 

"Really really!" he reassured, turning left down the first winding road they’d encountered since leaving their last Midwestern location. 

A line of trees appeared ahead, and soon John parked in front of a pathway that wandered through them. Sam and Dean dashed from the Impala the instant it stopped. 

"Oh cool, a bridge!" Dean exclaimed, sprinting over to the bridge and creek below that separated the road from the trees. Little Sammy followed close behind, crying out, “a bridge, a bridge!” 

"Look at the water, Sammy!" 

"Fishies!" Sam exclaimed, pointing them out with chubby, four-year-old fingers. 

"Hey Dad, is this the river you were talking about?" Dean inquired. 

"No, that’s just a creek. The river’s much bigger. Come help me get the bags before you run off," said John. 

"Okay!" Dean said, running over to grab his duffel and handing Sam his Thundercats lunchbox when he inevitably came over to help carry things bigger than him. They jogged back over the bridge through the passageway, Dean exclaiming, "A tunnel of trees! This is the best, Dad." 

"Tunnel of trees!" Sam repeated as they pranced through the pathway. Dean stopped suddenly at the end of it, causing Sam to collide with the back of his legs with a little "oof!" 

"It's a house! Dad, we get to stay in a house? And it's got two stories!" Dean cried. 

"Knew you'd like it. I need you to—" John started to say, but Dean and his brother were already skipping up the stone footpath towards the house. Dean skidded to a stop in front of the front porch, Sam not far behind. 

"Whoa," they said together, surveying their new dwelling. 

"Looks creepy, huh, Sammy?" 

"Creepy!" Sam yelled at the house. 

"Maybe it’s haunted," Dean half taunted, half wondered. 

"There’s no such thing as ghosts, Dean," Sam informed. 

"You wanna bet?" 

"Bet," Sam said, sure of himself. Dean laughed, silently hoping there’d be many more years before his little brother would have to pay up on that bet. 

The house was entirely wooden, the off-white paint chipping away to reveal the cedar wood underneath. Their reflections smiled widely back at them from the sliding glass doors. Pots and dirt lay scattered across the porch, telling a tale of a time when the house itself was as beautiful as its surroundings. An overgrown bush crept onto the porch from the left and up the trellis above. The beams supporting the lattice had rotted at the base; Dean wasted no time shoving at one of them, causing wood flecks to fall on his and Sam's hair. 

"It's gonna fall down!" he cried when Sam took a turn at pushing at the beam, a chunk of wood nearly hitting Sam's head. They ran away towards the surrounding field giggling, Sam chanting, "it's falling! it's falling!" as they did. 

Soon their attention shifted to the back of the house where a little pond made its home amongst the green fields, and they climbed on the rocks surrounding it. Sam's gaze was held by the tadpoles swimming there, while Dean's focus went upward to a massive, beautifully green tree that towered what seemed like miles above the other trees in the forest. "What kinda tree is that?" he asked their dad, who was opening up the back door to let some air into the dusty, stuffy house. Sam's eyes followed Dean's pointer finger and gasped excitedly, hurrying over to Dean’s side to get a better look. 

"Uh," John said, looking towards it, shielding his eyes from the sun setting just above it, "I think it's a camphor tree. Don't see many of those around these parts." 

"Wow, cool!" Dean exclaimed. 

"Cool!" squeaked Sam. 

"You think everything's cool, Dean," John laughed. "Help me salt the back of the house while I do the front." 

"Okay!" Dean replied, leaping off the rocks and jogging towards where he'd tossed his duffel at the front of the house to grab the salt. Sam waddled behind as fast as his four-year-old legs would carry him. After returning to the back, Dean poked his head inside, surveying the house cautiously, salt container in hand. The room was utterly bare, which, sure, meant more room for him and Sam to run around, but they had no furniture to fill it with. Dean desperately hoped that the place at least had mattresses so they wouldn't have to sleep on the floor again. Sam was always fidgety and extra cranky and unhappy when that happened, and this place was too beautiful for a grumpy toddler to cry about. Dean’s eyes narrowed in on something shiny towards the end of the living room, and he crawled over to investigate. "Huh, it's an acorn," he said, turning it over in his hand. 

"Lemme see!" Sam demanded, crawling toward him when suddenly one dropped in front of him. He sat on his butt to inspect it, then eyed the ceiling suspiciously. 

Dean crawled back towards him. "Did you find one too, Sammy?" 

"Uh huh!" he said, proudly displaying his prize. "It fell from the ceiling." 

Dean looked up, confused. "That's weird. Maybe it's squirrels!" 

"Squirrels?" Sam repeated excitedly. 

"Or rats," Dean teased. 

"No! Squirrels are better!" Sam pouted. 

"Dean, you done salting yet?" came their dad's voice from the front of the house. 

"Ah!" cried Dean, scrambling towards the abandoned salt container and beginning his task. "Not yet, Dad!" 

"Dee, why do we put salt on the floors and windows wherever we go?" Sam questioned as Dean made his way from the door to the closest window. 

"It keeps the ants out," he lied. "You don't want ants, do you?" 

Sam made a face. "Eww. Ants are gross. But... but I'm not scared of them," Sam lied in turn. 

"Sure you're not, Sammy," Dean laughed as he headed toward the closed door at the far end of the living room. He hesitated, his hand resting on the handle. "Whaddya think's in this room?" 

"Dunno," Sam shrugged. 

"Guess." 

Sam shot him a dirty look. "Don't wanna." 

Dean sighed dramatically, placing the salt container down next to him. "Then I guess I have no choice..." Sam side-eyed him warily, "but to release..." Sam squealed, attempting to run the other way, but Dean grabbed him around his stomach, preventing his escape, "the tickle monster!" Sam shrieked as Dean began his assault. 

"Noo-o Dee! Haha s-stop, Dee, stop!" he giggled. 

Dean shook his head, "I didn't hear the magic words!" 

"Dee I'm gonna pee!" he wailed. 

"Nope! Those aren’t the words I'm looking for!" 

"P-please, hehe, p-please go to sleep tickle monster!" he said, defeated, still giggling long after Dean stopped. 

"Whaddya think's in there," Dean prodded again, smiling. 

"Um..." Sam giggled, slapping Dean's hand away when it inched closer. "A liberry!" 

"Library? Who knew toddlers could be nerds," he teased, earning another glare from Sam. 

"M'not a nerd!" he objected. 

"You don't even know what that means, stupid." 

"Do too!" 

"What's it mean then, Sammy?" 

"Smarter than you," he sassed. 

Dean placed his hand over his heart in mock-hurt. "I taught you everything I know, and you wanna treat me like that, huh? I see how it is." 

Sam stepped right up in front of Dean, going on his tippy-toes and planting a kiss on Dean's chest. "There. I kissed it better. Now open the door!" 

"I can't wait for the day you talk back to Dad like that," Dean joked, reaching for the door handle and twisting it open. The room was pitch black for a split second until thousands of little black puffball creatures scurried out of sight, squeezing into the baseboard, the wood panels of the wall, and up into the ceiling. Sam and Dean gasped, and Dean quickly closed the door almost all the way, putting a protective hand on Sam’s shoulder. He peeked his head through the crack. 

"What was that?" Sam exclaimed. 

"Dunno," Dean said, contemplating. "It looked like... dust bunnies or something. But I didn't think those were real." 

"I wanna see, I wanna see!" Sam insisted, trying to squeeze past Dean. 

"Stop, Sammy. I gotta make sure it's safe." He pressed his hand against Sam's chest, attempting to keep him at bay. The room seemed safe. And anyway, those... dust bunnies or whatever they were seemed more shy than scary. He'd ask Dad later. He closed the door all the way. 

"Why'd they run away?" questioned Sam, trying to tug Dean's fingers one-by-one off the doorknob. 

"Dunno. Maybe we should make sure they know we mean business," he replied, his smile matching the one now plastered on Sam's face. 

Dean swung the door wide open, and they both jumped into the room together, shouting, "Come out, come out, or we'll poke your eyeballs out!" They laughed at their silliness, not noticing the handful of dust bunnies scurrying past their feet. Inside, the room was mostly bare. It had wooden floors like the rest of the house and large windows on both adjacent walls that faced the outside. A twin-sized mattress leaned against the wall next to them. Under the window in the wall in front of them, lo and behold, was a small bookcase about Dean's size filled with books. 

"Told you," Sam said smugly, picking up the salt from where Dean had left it and skipping over to salt one, and then the other windowsills. Dean's eyes were still rolling when Sam sashayed toward the bookcase. 

"Nuh uh," Dean said, finally entering the room to grab Sam by the wrist. "We gotta finish chores before you go down that rabbit hole." 

A few rooms and no more dust bunnies later, Dean shouted, "'Kay I'm done!" on the off chance that John would hear him, with instructions to salt the upstairs shouted back at him. 

Dean sighed. They'd found the door to the stairs earlier, but he'd shut it quickly, hoping his dad would deal with the darkness above. Not because he was scared. Dean Winchester did not get scared. He just... didn't want Sam to get scared. Or for any monsters or ghosts to be lurking upstairs and hurt Sam. But most definitely not because he was scared. 

He opened the door, him and Sam staring into the darkness. Suddenly, a plink! came from the top of the stairs, and then another, a tiny object bouncing down until Dean caught it at the third stair. He opened his hand. "An acorn!" said Sam, both of them looking at it and then up to try to deduce where it came from. Dean gave Sam a determined look, who nodded back, and they haltingly made their way up. 

At the top of the stairs, they popped up, shouting, “come out, come out, or we'll poke your eyeballs out!" into the darkness. A few dust bunnies scurried above their heads. No cold spots at least, Dean noted. He darted out toward the window. Sam followed closely behind, but black spots stole his attention as they fled into a crack in the wall. Sam squinted determinedly, marching over in a fight stance and planting himself in front of the crack. 

Dean, meanwhile, got the window open as fast as he could, the little light left of the evening creeping in through into the second story, which turned out to be a finished attic. He spun around to make sure Sam was safe then spun back. He leaned out the window, which sank into the slant of the roof. The window sill extended out far enough for him and Sam to climb out and comfortably lay down on. He smiled, looking at the fields and trees surrounding the house. It truly was a beautiful place. To his left was the line of trees in front of which the Impala was parked. In front of him, just past the pond and before the giant camphor tree, was a large thicket of bushes in bloom with little yellow flowers. To his right was a well and fields littered with wildflowers. Below, however, was John's irritated voice calling up, "Dean! Bring your damn duffel bag inside!" 

"Ah!" Dean cried, quickly salting the window and rushing past Sam, who was still in a stand-off with the wall. 

Sam stomped forward, poking his finger into the crack. "Whoa!" he exclaimed as a whole group of dust bunnies shot out and flew up to the ceiling. Sam watched in rapture as a single black puffball missed its mark and drifted slowly down towards him, eyeing Sam warily. Sam stretched his arms straight out to the sides, preparing for the capture of his new pet. SMACK! he clapped his hands together, running in place happily before sprinting downstairs as fast as his little legs would carry him, shouting, "I caught one, Dee! I caught one! I caught one!" He scurried towards the front room where he heard voices when he stopped short, his path suddenly blocked by a pair of unfamiliar legs. 

"Hey there, kiddo!" greeted the big, scary man who smelled like Dad did sometimes when he was mad. 

"Ah!" he cried, wanting none of that and taking an out-of-the-way path past him and his dad in the doorway to Dean at the other end of the hall, running in circles around Dean, who spun with him, before hiding behind his legs. 

"You didn't mention there were two of them," the man grunted. Dean frowned. This guy seemed even more cranky than Dad and his little brother combined. Great. 

"You don't have to worry about us, we take care of ourselves," he said, crossing his arms. 

"Polite kids you got there," he said to John, who shot Dean a warning glare. 

"Sorry, sir. I'm Dean, this is Sam," he said, pointing to his little brother, who had unclasped his hands and was looking in horror at his dirt-covered palms. "Sam, your hands are filthy!" Dean said, clasping Sam’s wrist. “What happened?” He looked down and saw little dirt footprints surrounding Sam. "And your feet!" On a whim, he lifted his own foot. "Mine are dirty too!" he exclaimed. 

"I caught a dust bunny, but it got away! Or..." he sniffed, "I might have killeded it." 

"I'm sure he's fine, kiddo. Looks like you've got _susuwatari_ ," said the stranger walking towards them. Dean stepped back cautiously. "You can trust me, your daddy and I are friends. Name's Bobby." 

Dean looked to his dad for assurance, who nodded. 

"Susie watery?" Sam asked, peeking out from behind Dean, his nose wrinkled up. 

Bobby laughed. " _Susuwatari_ ," he repeated. "It means soot sprites in Japanese. They live in old empty houses and cover everything with dirt. A Japanese family used to live here back in the ‘30s. Wouldn’t be surprised if those little guys joined them when they immigrated." 

"Soot sprites?" Dean asked, looking to his dad for an explanation. 

"So they're ghosts? You told me this place wasn't haunted," gruffed John. 

"Nah, they're the harmless kind," Bobby dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Besides," he said, smiling down at Sam, "once they decide a family is nice, they'll move onto the next house. Which I bet is what they're talking about right now." 

"Hear that, Sammy? They’re gonna move out!” said Dean. 

“But I don’t want them to!” he pouted. 

“What if a big, huge one comes after you!” said Dean, using his arms to exaggerate how big and huge it would be. 

Sam shrugged. “So what? I’m not scared.” 

“Fine, I won’t go with you when you have to pee in the middle of the night then,” Dean shot back. 

Bobby laughed. “Oh! By the way, I put some books in the far bedroom for your daddy to do some research, but I can bring you some too if you’d like. What’s your favorite book, Dean?” 

Dean blushed, suddenly shy. He took a step toward Bobby, who leaned down as Dean whispered his request in his ear. “I can definitely get that for you,” he said with a wink. “And what about you, Sammy, do you read?” 

“Oh, yeah! I’m a nerd. But I don’t read chapter books yet. I have Dean read those ones to me.” 

Bobby stood back up and turned towards John. “Maybe I do like kids, after all.” 

***

The next chore they set after was cleaning the place up. The soot sprites had left dirt everywhere, so Dean was tasked with mopping up the floors while Sam tagged along behind their dad with the essential duty of asking every three minutes when dinner was. 

On Dean's third trip outside to dump and refill the mop bucket with the hose, the girl they'd seen in the cornfields earlier came from around the corner of the house carrying a covered basket. She jumped when she saw Dean there. "Oh, hey! You're that girl we saw on the road," Dean greeted. 

"My... my mom said to give this to Bobby," she said shakily, holding the basket out. 

Dean eyed it suspiciously. "What's in it?" 

She shoved it more towards him, now just seeming mad that he wouldn't take it. "Okay, fine then," Dean said, grabbing it. 

"By the way, this place is haunted," she said quickly before running out of sight. 

"Joy, git your ass back here and introduce yourself!" came Bobby's voice as he stepped out of the house. "Sorry, Dean. She's a bit, uh, shy sometimes.”

"Hey, what's going on?" asked John as he joined them, Sam close at his heels who repeated his dad's question. 

"Neighbor came by to drop off some cookies," Bobby explained, pulling the plate out of the basket. Sam jumped up excitedly. 

"Gimme, gimme!" he demanded. 

"Hey, ask nice, Sammy," corrected Dean. 

"I worked hard for these cookies, I don't gotta ask nice," he shot back. 

"Sam," John said sternly. 

"May I please have some cookies, Mr. Bobby, sir?" he asked in a mocking tone. 

Bobby laughed, handing him and Dean two each. 

"Who is she anyway? She didn't say much," asked Dean. 

"Ah. She, uh... I helped her mom once. Her mom kinda... has taken a bit of a liking to me," he explained, blushing. 

"I hate girls," replied Dean, his nose crinkling up. 

Bobby snorted. “You say that now...” 

"Was it a hunt?" John questioned. 

Dean shot his dad a look. He knew Sam was right there. He didn't need to know about the ghost or whatever-the-hell it was Bobby helped gank. "C'mon, Sam. Let's go get some napkins before you get chocolate all over yourself," he said, leading him inside. Bobby noted the exchange quietly. 

"Some remarkable boys you got there," he said to John. 

"Dean babies him too much," John replied bluntly. 

"How old is he, four? He's pretty damn young, John." 

"No older than Dean was when—" he cut himself off. 

"Ya gotta let 'em be kids sometimes. 'Cause that's what they are." 

"Demons don't care if they're kids, Bobby. A demon went after my baby boy before he even said his first word." 

"Listen," replied Bobby, putting up his hands defensively, "All I'm sayin': this place is as safe as it's gonna get. That Japanese family that used to live here? They were hunters. Got the entire area on lockdown. Just... let them relax while you're here. And you should relax, too. You look like shit for 33.” 

John glared for a second, but a smile finally broke on his face. "What're you, 85?" 

"Shaddup," Bobby laughed. 

"You got a case for me, or you just gonna run your mouth all day?" 

***

After Bobby and John had finished discussing the hunt, John called the boys back over. "Guess what?" he asked. 

"Chicken butt!" replied Sam. 

"Guess why," Dean prompted. 

"Hehe, chicken thigh," Sam giggled. 

"Guess who?" asked John. 

"Chicken... poo?" Sam guessed. 

"No, you!" he replied. 

"Me?" said Sam. 

"And you," he said, looking at Dean too. "Bobby brought over another mattress in his truck. You can either put it in the living room or up in the attic." 

"Living room!" cried out Sam while at the same time Dean called out, "Attic!" Sam gave Dean a look of annoyance for not agreeing with him mixed in with a tiny bit of fear. 

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean assured. "The soot sprites are nice, remember?" Before Sam could get out an I'm not scared, Dean continued, "And besides, the window sill is big and sturdy enough for us to sit and watch the stars on." 

"Stars?" he said excitedly. 

"Yeah! And we're far enough from town, so we'll be able to see them real good." 

Sam looked up at his dad, his decision made. "Attic." 

***

After Bobby left and Sam had settled down after a tantrum over wanting pizza instead of chicken nuggets, the temperature started dropping. Sam dug his and Dean's blanket out of the duffel bag while Dean stepped outside to gather some wood that was piled up outside for the fireplace. When he'd picked up a few pieces, a strong wind came out of nowhere, knocking the wood right out of his hands and straight up into the sky. "Not haunted my ass," he muttered, picking up more wood and running as quickly as he could back into the house as the wind picked up again. He slammed the door behind him, pattering over as fast as he could to a huddled up Sam and his hunched over dad, who was working on starting a fire. 

"Something scare you?" his dad asked. 

"N-no, sir," he lied. 

John snorted. "Go in the kitchen real quick and bring back what's on the counter. I got you a surprise." Dean's face lit up as he turned on his heels and ran to the kitchen, his feet slapping on the wood. 

"No way! We're making s'mores?" he cried out happily, hurrying back to his dad and brother. 

"S'mores! S'mores!" Sam cheered. The fire popped to life as they put their marshmallows onto some of the smaller twigs Dean had brought in, Sam's first one ending up a gooey mess all over the stick and his hands until Dean helped him place another one on. 

Outside, the wind howled. Sam and Dean looked uncertainly around them. "The house is gonna fall down, Dad," Sam whispered worriedly. 

"I hope not! Then we would've cleaned for nothing," said Dean. 

"Hey, Daddy?" Sam asked, looking up at John with puppy-dog eyes. "Can we go to the river?" 

"Yeah, maybe Bobby has some old fishing poles we can borrow," John said. 

"I don't wanna fish. I just wanna play in the water." 

"Only if the current isn't too strong," Dean said. Sam nodded, satisfied with the conditions. 

"And if it's not too windy," Sam added as the wind continued its assault on the house, which shook and creaked around them. Sam and Dean inched closer to their dad, their marshmallows slowly roasting in the fire, mostly forgotten. 

Out of nowhere, John burst into laughter, startling his two boys, Dean barely holding onto his stick and grabbing Sam’s before it fell into the flames.

“Try laughing. Then whatever you’re scared of will go away,” John said before laughing again. Dean gave him a sideways glance. Not that his dad was a bad parent, but this whole sitting around the fire making s'mores laughing away their fear was not John Winchester's cup of tea. Still. If it had a chance at calming Sam down… 

Dean joined in on the laughter, big, fake belly-laughs, while Sam sat in vehement denial. "I'm not scared!" he declared. Dean just laughed some more. "What? I'm not!" But then Dean handed off their marshmallow sticks to their dad and tackled him, tickling his tummy, and Sam immediately broke into a fit of giggles. 

***

They sat in front of the fire until it died down, Dean blowing out Sam's second marshmallow when it caught on fire. Sam yawned in John's lap, eyes drooping, and John himself was starting to nod off. "Okay, Sammy, time for bed," Dean declared. 

"M'not tired," he fought. 

"Sure you're not." Dean rolled his eyes, another battle of getting Sam to bed ahead of him. 

"Listen to your brother, Sam," ordered John, lifting Sam up off his lap and into Dean's. Dean gave him a look of get some sleep, too. I know you're leaving early in the morning to work on the case. "I'm fine, Dean. Get to bed." 

"Don't wanna," Sam pouted, sliding off of Dean and preparing for a full-blown meltdown. 

"Fine, I guess I'll watch the stars myself," Dean tempted. 

Sam took in an exaggerated breath, then took off full speed towards the stairs. 

Dean snorted. "'Night, Dad!" he called over his shoulder as he chased after him. 

"'Night, Dad!" yelled Sam, stomp-running up the stairs. 

*** 

The two of them laid on their backs, their arms tucked behind their heads, resting on a pillow as they gazed upward, the soft glow of the porch light below them the only light pollution. "Is that Draco?" questioned Sam, pointing at the sprinkling of stars. 

"The one above the Little Dipper that looks like a snake with a square head?" 

"Yup." 

"Yup, that's him. Do you remember what happened to him?" 

Sam shifted his finger to point at a group of stars farther right. "Hercules killed him for his gold apples." 

"Good job, Sammy. Who'd he steal them from?" he quizzed. 

"The Nymphs of the West. The Herpesticides-" 

"Hesperides," Dean helped. 

"They didn't get their own constanation, though," he said with a frown. 

"Constellation." 

"Yeah. Well, actually. He tricked Atlas into getting the apples for him while he held the world. And then he tricked Atlas into taking the world back. And then he killed Draco, just 'cause." 

"Know-it-all," Dean joked. 

Sam paused. "Hercules was a jerk, huh?" 

"Yeah, he kinda was." 

They lay in comfortable silence for a bit, just stargazing. Suddenly, Dean gasped, pointing at the soot sprites hovering right above them. "Look!" 

They both sat up and turned to face the window at the same time, watching as a line of soot sprites floated out of the house and into the night sky, their fluffy edges and the whites of their eyes illuminated by the porch light below. 

"No!" sobbed Sam as they continued their journey towards the camphor tree in the distance. His eyes welled up and poured over, his bottom lip trembling as he whimpered. 

Dean rubbed his back consolingly. "It's okay, Sammy. You'll find new friends here." 

"No, I won't, I don't go to school like you do," he replied. Dean's heart sank. "It's okay," Sam continued, "you're the only friend I need." He rested his head on Dean's chest, who sighed, bittersweet. "And besides," he said, rubbing the tears from his face, looking up at his brother. "That means we're good people, right?" 

Dean smiled fondly. "The best," he said, kissing his forehead. 


	2. Concerning hobbits

"Dad's got work to do," Dean explained to Sam, but he was having none of it.

"But I don't want him to," he pouted.

John gave Sam a warning glare, but Sam just pouted more and crossed his arms. "S'not fair. You promised to show us the river."

"Maybe I can show you—" Dean started, but was quickly interrupted by Sam stamping his foot.

"No! Daddy promised."

John pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to maintain composure. "It's too early for this, Sam, and I don't have time for one of your tantrums."

"But you—"

"No but's, Sam. You be good for your brother, you hear?"

"Yessir..." Sam sulked.

"And you," he said, turning towards Dean.

"Look out for Sammy," he replied, giving his dad a look letting him know he acknowledged the seriousness of the task given to him.

"Atta boy," John replied, ruffling his hair. Dean beamed up at him. "Bobby'll be by in a bit to check on you and bring you some stuff." He looked pointedly at Sam. "Behave." Sam sulked in reply.

"He'll be good, Dad," Dean said, standing behind Sam and putting his hands on his shoulders. Sam tried to shrug them off but was dissuaded from a squeeze from Dean, which he knew meant _not worth it, Sammy_.

"Yessir," Sam said reluctantly.

"You're getting too old for these tantrums of yours. This is a nice place. You and Dean can get into enough trouble without my help," he said.

Sam frowned, disheartened. "Yessir," he and Dean replied. And with that, their dad was out the door. Sam turned his head to look up at Dean. "Can I have my cereal now?" he asked sweetly.

"Sure kiddo. But not a lotta milk, we gotta ration it, okay?" Sam nodded. "Dunno why you gotta give Dad such a hard time," Dean said. "He never said he'd take us today."

"He's never gonna take us then. He'll just finish his job and then we'll leave and he'll forget all about his promise."

Dean sighed. "He's got important stuff to do, Sammy. You know that."

Sam looked up at him with sad eyes, his lower lip trembling, "More important than us?"

Dean turned Sam around until he was facing him, squatting so he was looking up at him. "Nothing's more important than you, Sammy. Dad's just gotta do this so we have we have money for food."

"But we never have enough money for food anyway," Sam argued.

Dean's heart broke, and he squeezed Sam's shoulder again. "We always make it work though, right kiddo?" Sam nodded. "C'mon, let's go make that cereal. I'll even let you pour the milk if you promise to be real careful."

A couple bowls of cereal and plenty of spilled milk later, the boys decided to run around in the crisp morning air. The grass was still damp with morning dew beneath their feet, and a lazy fog reflected the sun, giving their little house in the fields a rose-tinted, blurred overtone. They chased each other for a while, until Dean settled on the ground and Sam picked the wildflowers scattered around them and laid them one by one on Dean's lap. Soon Dean's lap was covered with crushed morning glories, littleleaf buttercups, and single pink rose. The row of trees that the pathway led through lay hazily in front of them and crickets and frogs sang their chorus in the background. The sound of an engine cut through them, and soon fuzzy beams of lights pierced through the fog at the end of the driveway.

"Who's that?" Sam inquired.

"Dad said Bobby was coming by, remember?"

"No, I stopped listening after Dad said he wasn't taking us to the river," Sam replied nonchalantly.

Dean shook his head and laughed. "Kid, I don't know what I'm gonna do with you." Sam shrugged, and they strolled down the pathway to greet Bobby.

"Mornin'," Bobby greeted.

"Morning!" Sam replied brightly.

"How was your first night out here? See any more _susuwatari_?"

"Yeah, but they flew away," Sam said sadly.

"That's good! Otherwise you'd probably have to dust this place every day," Bobby reasoned. Sam shrugged.

"Thanks for the s’mores, Bobby," said Dean.

"Can’t get anything past ya, can we Dean?"

"Nah, I just know my dad. No way in hell’s he gonna buy us a treat right before stocking up for a job."

"Figured you could use some spoiling."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, tell that to Dad."

"I did," Bobby said with a wink.

"Whaddya bring us?" Sam asked, trying to climb up the tire to get a look inside the back of the truck. Bobby lifted him into the bed, and Sam immediately climbed past three chairs, going for what was covered by a sheet. "A bike!" he exclaimed. Dean scrambled as fast as he could to join Sam on the upside-down kitchen table he was standing on.

"Really?" he said excitedly, pulling the sheet off all the way. It wasn't a new bike by any means, but it looked sturdy, and there was some cushioning duct-taped onto the crossbar for Sam to sit on and a wire basket zip-tied to the handlebar.

"Since it's a ways into town, and your daddy's starting that job soon, and I've got my own thing I'm working on, so I gotta ditch you here in 'bout twenty minutes or so. Sorry I can't be here to watch you kids, eight's still awful young to babysit," Bobby explained apologetically.

"I'm nine," retorted Dean, while Sam cried out, "I'm not a baby!"

"Whatever you say, kiddos," he said, lifting the bike out of the truck.

Sam turned towards a medium sized box near where the bike had been.

"What's in the box?" questioned Sam, his attention shifting rapidly in hopes of more presents.

"Open it," Bobby said with a smile.

He lifted the flaps eagerly. "Books!" he said, picking up the top one, _The Battle of the Monkey and the Crab_ , and showing Dean.

"Cool!" Dean said, bending over to have a look. Plenty of kid's books that Sam could easily read. _Thank God_ , thought Dean. They didn't have a TV and there were only so many ways to keep Sam preoccupied. Tucked in the side of the box, binding facing up, was a thicker book. "Thanks, Bobby!" he exclaimed, showing Sam the beat up, well-read book, titled _The Hobbit_. "No way," he gasped as he searched deeper into the box. "You got me _Lord of the Rings_ too?"

Bobby grinned. "You like?"

The bright smile on Dean's face faded. "I dunno if I'm gonna be able to finish it before we leave."

"They're yours, kid. I've had ‘em for years, I know the story front to back. 'Sides, I can always watch those godawful cartoon movies if I'm really missin’ it."

"Read it to me! Read it to me!" Sam said, bouncing, _The Battle of the Monkey and the Crab_ still clutched in his hands.

Bobby grabbed him, setting him back on the ground, then took the box out as Dean climbed out of the truck.

Sam ran back into the house, book still held out in front of him, while Dean lifted the books into the basket, guiding the bike onto the front porch and bringing the box inside. With a grunt, Bobby hauled the table out, placed it in the kitchen, then brought the chairs in.

"Are you rich, Bobby?" Sam asked.

He laughed. "Nah, found this crap in front of someone's driveway, stuck it in my yard for a few years 'cause I had no actual use for it. Now it has a use."

Sam nodded understandingly. "Cool."

"While I'm here, want me to read you a book?" Bobby asked.

"This one!" insisted Sam, shoving the book in Bobby's face.

"Hold on, Sam, Dean can read you that one later. I was thinking of one that only I could read," he said, picking up a thin book with a picture of three goats on the front, the title written in Japanese. "That way Dean can have something read to him for once."

"I'm not a kid," Dean blushed, nevertheless scooting his chair closer to the one Bobby was sat at, Sam doing the same.

Bobby smirked. "It's called _Three Billy Goats Gruff_." And so he began.

He read some words in Japanese, his way of sneaking in some education. They learned that _biriyagi_ meant goat, _tsuribashi_ meant bridge, and _torooru_ meant troll.

Sam and Dean sat enraptured, eyes wide, chins in hands through the whole thing. They sat back in their chairs when it ended, Dean's takeaway from the story that big brothers always look out for younger ones. Sam was mostly sad that the troll, who was just hungry, drowned in the river. Bobby laughed.

"I gotta head out, but you know where Joy's mom lives, right?" Dean nodded. "You head over to her house straight away if you need anything."

"Yessir," he replied, which Sam mimicked.

Bobby headed out toward his truck. "See ya later, boys."

"Read this with me, Dee!" demanded Sam the second Bobby was gone, holding out _The Battle of the Monkey and the Crab_ , which he'd kept close to him this whole time. Dean sat down next to the box of books.

"Hold on, I wanna see what else is in here," he said, rifling through its contents. Tucked in between two books was an envelope. "Damnit, Bobby," he muttered when he saw two $20 bills inside. He took out the note tucked in with it.

_Treat you and Sam to some ice cream at the Eat N Treats in town. Best ice cream parlor around. Tell Marlene I sent you. Then go get whatever food you want at the grocery store. Don't argue, just thank me next time you see me. -Bobby_

"What's it say?" asked Sam, resting his chin on Dean's shoulder. Dean waved the money in front of Sam's face, who reached out to grab, Dean moving it out of reach in time. "We're rich!" declared Sam.

"Wanna get ice cream?" Dean asked. "Or do you wanna read your book first?" Sam tossed the book carelessly on the floor in response, bare feet slapping on the hardwood as he ran to get his shoes. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean laughed, tucking the money into his back pocket and grabbing the house key from the kitchen counter. He slipped on his shoes before kneeling down to tie his, and then an impatient Sam's shoes. He led the bike onto the stone pathway, Sam close behind.

"Hop up!" Dean said, kneeling to provide a step for Sam to climb onto his makeshift seat. The bike wobbled unsteadily for a few feet before Dean got the hang of balancing the weight of him and Sam. They turned left onto the roadway, back through the curvy street they'd come in on, toward town.

They passed what Dean now knew was Grevland Hills Farm, where Joy lived. She was playing in her front yard as they rode by, stopping to stick her tongue out at Dean. Dean, in reply, saluted his middle finger to her, and Sammy followed suit.

Brandon, South Dakota was an isolated small town, home to just under 3,200 residents, and it showed. Only one stoplight in the whole town on the main road that people drove through just to get to the highway. Most of the roads were littered with potholes. There was one gas station and not a Wal-Mart in sight. All the businesses were family owned and the trees that shaded the streets and uprooted the sidewalks were as old as the town itself. Which, in reality, was only around 40 years old or so, but the small town vibe gave the feeling that it was much older. The locals eyed any stranger suspiciously, and two young boys riding their bike with a makeshift extra seat and basket were no exception. Not that the Winchester boys were unaccustomed to less than warm welcomes. After winding through some of the streets, Dean stopped in front of a '50s style red building that read Eat N Treats on the front. He let Sam hop off before putting down the kickstand. The bell above the door dinged as they entered.

"Sit where you like," said the bored voice of a teenager.

"Um," Dean said shyly, Sam hiding behind him. "Is Marlene here?"

"Bobby sent ya, didn't he," greeted a lady in her mid-forties coming out from the back room, a permanent smile plastered on her red-stained lips. "What can I get ya boys?"

Dean hopped up onto to the stool in front of the counter while Sam used Dean’s arm to climb up on his. "Vanilla with extra chocolate sauce,” Dean said. “Oh! And sprinkles!"

"Banana!" said Sam once he was finally sat on his stool.

"Banana split," Dean clarified. He covered his mouth with the blade of his hand so Sam couldn’t see Dean mouth _kid-sized_ to Marlene, who winked knowingly, her permed curls bouncing. Dean placed a twenty in front of her.

"Nah, Bobby's friends don't pay," she insisted. Dean smiled. Maybe this town wasn't so unfriendly after all.

The trip to the grocery store after proved otherwise, the cashier eyeing her only two customers suspiciously, and very conspicuously following them through the store to make sure they weren't stealing anything. Sam didn't notice, though, and happily put whatever he wanted into the shopping cart. They were rich, after all. "Bananas," he said in the first aisle, grabbing a bunch from the shelf.

"You just had bananas," reminded Dean, but Sam skipped merrily into the next aisle.

"Peanut butter," he listed off. Dean caught on.

"Okay, Elvis, I'll make you a peanut butter and banana sandwich tonight."

Sam grabbed a bag of marshmallows and almost successfully put them in the cart before Dean took them from him and put them back. Tears welled in his eyes. "We have marshmallows left over from last night, stupid," Dean reminded, which was enough to appease him.

A few more supplies, bread, jelly (strawberry, of course), milk, eggs, and, as a treat, bacon, and they made their way up to the counter.

"You got enough money to pay for all that?" the cashier said blandly.

"We know Bobby," announced Sam, too short to be seen from the other side of the counter but for his little fingers and half his head peeping over. She shrugged, annoyed. Dean stared her down for another second before slamming the forty dollars down. She looked even more annoyed that she wouldn't get to fight a nine-year-old and his kid brother after her in-depth inspection to ensure the money was real didn't turn up any foul play. She sighed, bored now, shoving their items into a plastic bag and practically throwing it at Dean. Yeah, Dean hated small towns.

The ride back to the house was uneventful, and soon Dean was pedaling up the footpath. Sam slid off under Dean's arm the instant he stopped, kicking his shoes off and sped into the house. "Read me this now?" he demanded, shoving _The Battle of the Monkey and the Crab_ at him before Dean even had a chance to park the bike and grab the groceries.

"Don't you want dinner first?"

Sam shook his head. "We already had dessert. M'not hungry."

"Okay, I'll ask in ten minutes when you're magically hungry again, then," Dean said knowingly. Sam stuck his tongue out at him.

"You better put that tongue back in your mouth, boy," said a deep voice behind them.

"Daddy!" exclaimed Sam and he ran over to hug him. "Thought you were working?"

"Yeah, well," he grunted, reaching down to pick Sam up, "Impala crapped out on me."

"What's wrong with the car?" Dean inquired.

"Dunno, wanna help me find out? Bobby towed it out front."

Dean's face lit up. "Can I?"

"But... but my story!" Sam reminded, frowning.

"Why don't you read it to us while we work?" Dean suggested. Sam nodded enthusiastically, kicking at his dad to let him down then running to put his shoes on again.

"Wouldn’t kill you to say no to him every once in a while," said John.

"Wouldn’t kill you to say yes to him every once in a while," Dean shot back.

"You better watch your mouth, son," John warned, but Sam came running back to Dean, shoes untied and half on, before Dean could respond. Dean bent over to tie Sam's shoes, glaring at his dad while he did.

"One day _,_ " Sam began slowly, "a long, long" he expanded the word to emphasize just how long ago it was, "time ago, a m-monk-monk-ey, which had found a per- I dunno this word Dee," he held the book up to Dean, who was stood on a stool, bent over the engine of the Impala.

"Persimmon," he helped.

"Permisson," Sam said.

Dean laughed. "Per-sim-mon."

"Per-sim-mon," Sam repeated. "Found a permisson seed," he continued, "and was... car-ry-ing, carrying it uh-roh-und. Uhrohund?"

Dean peeked at the book. "Around."

"Carrying it around, bump-ed into a crab. The crab, as it turn-ed out, was carrying a very de-" he held the book up to Dean again.

"If you can't read it out loud without interrupting us, then go sit down and read it silently," John said.

Dean shot a very pissed off look at John. "I dunno how to read silently. I'm four years old, Dad," Sam reminded him. Dean snorted. John set down the wrench he was holding with a dramatic clank, his eyebrows arching up at his defiant son.

Still wanting to maintain some semblance of peace, Dean suggested, "Why don't you read it to me after we finish this up?"

"But I've been waiting all day to read it, Dee. S'not fair."

"That's enough, Sam," said their dad. "You can read later, there's only so much daylight left. Find something to do or I’ll find something for you to do."

Sam knew better than to argue any further. He walked away sniffling, and Dean was torn between going to comfort his brother and angering his dad more. He knew Sam would forgive him easily enough, but Dad? Dean needed to be on his good side to make sure he took them to see the river before they left.

John sighed thirty minutes later. "Well, think that's the best I can do for today. At least I have enough notes on the case to go through tomorrow from here." He dug through his leather jacket pocket, pulling out two packets of hot chocolate. "Here. Don't say I never do anything nice for you."

Dean smiled widely. "Thanks, Dad!" he exclaimed, hopping off his stool and running to find Sam.

"And make sure Sam knows it's from me," John called after him.

"Thanks for the hot chocolate, Dee," said Sam, laying on his tummy on the floor in front of the lit fireplace, carefully tipping over his mug with both hands so nothing would spill. John cleared his throat. "Dean made it," Sam clarified.

"You're welcome," John gruffed. Sam abandoned his mug on the floor, walked over to where his dad was sitting at the kitchen table, plopping his book on the table and crawling onto his lap. John's eyes darted over to Dean, seeking help. He had research for the case he still had to do and no time to entertain a demanding four-year-old. Dean sighed.

"Let's go on the window ledge and read your book, Sammy," he said, tugging Sam down.

"But it's getting dark!"

"I'll hold the flashlight while you read, sound good?" Sam nodded excitedly, racing up the stairs.

"He just wants twenty minutes of your time, Dad," Dean grumbled quietly to himself as he followed Sam.

In their little room at the top of the stairs, Dean found Sam jumping by the window. "Climb up!" Dean said, making a step out of his interlaced fingers for Sam to scramble onto the sill with. Dean grabbed their pillows and flashlight and joined him, resting his back against the side of the roof the window was dug into with Sam nestled in between his legs. He clicked on the flashlight, illuminating the first page of _The Battle of the Monkey and the Crab_. Next to the text was a picture of a monkey looking very longingly at a white ball that a crab was holding in his pincers.

"What color's the crab, Sammy?" Dean quizzed.

"Red!"

Dean smacked the side of Sam's head, who protested with a squeaky, _hey!_ "You know it's not red, Sammy."

"He's orange, but I want him to be red, so he's red," he said, his brows furrowed.

"That's not how it works, stupid."

"It's my book and I say he's red, and if you don't like it, you can kiss my ass."

Dean snorted. "I'll whoop your ass is more like it."

"No you won't," said Sam, very sure of himself, and rightly so.

"Yeah, ok," Dean laughed.

"Shut up and let me read, jerk."

"You're lucky you're cute, bitch." That earned Dean a punch to his thigh, which lead to another whack to Sam's head, and then a full-on wrestling match on the windowsill that ended when Sam pulled the ol' butt-on-face maneuver.

"Ew, get your smelly ass outta my face!" Dean cried, grabbing Sam by the waist and pulling him between his legs again. "Where's your book?"

"You're sitting on it, fatass," taunted Sam.

"Hey, I've got you in prime tickle position, play nice." Sam gave him his best puppy-dog eyes, and Dean sighed, pulling the book out from under him and reaching for the flashlight that had nearly fallen over the edge of the sill.

At long last Sam was able to read his book. It took over an hour to read the short tale of trade, deception, revenge and reformation, but Dean was patient, helping Sam sound out the larger words, despite having trouble with some of them himself. Dean yawned dramatically. "Time for bed?" Sam shook his whole body. "You had way too much sugar today," Dean sighed. Sam nodded vehemently in agreement. "Stay here," Dean said, sliding out from under Sam. "I'm gonna read you my book now."

"Hurry!" Sam whined the second he left, pawing at the window. Dean returned shortly with _The Hobbit_ and they settled back into their positions, with Sam holding the flashlight this time.

"In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit," Dean began.

"What'sa hobbit?" Sam asked.

"If you shut up, I bet it'll tell us," Dean said. Sam pouted but remained silent. "Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole," continued Dean, "filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell," Sam wrinkled his nose, "nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort." Sam snuggled further into Dean, his brother's voice calming him down until he fell asleep before Dean could get around to "what is a hobbit?" Dean smiled softly, reading on quietly to himself for a while, before scooping Sam up and tucking him into bed. "G'night Sammy," he said, kissing him on the forehead before turning in for the night.


End file.
